


Of Crying, Rocking, and Pyjamas

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Hanna [14]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Babies, Crying, Exhaustion, F/M, Innuendo, New Parents, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: Meet Tom, Han, and their little bundle of... well, crying.





	Of Crying, Rocking, and Pyjamas

She’s exhausted. No, that’s an understatement. Is there anything more exhausted than exhausted?

She’s also lost the ability to think, it seems. Gradually over the last two months, but especially since this morning at 5.

Tom isn’t there yet. At least she thinks so. God, she’s so exhausted she doesn’t even know if her husband is home yet. He did have rehearsals for the play all day. It’s still light out so she’s pretty sure he’s not home yet. She didn’t hear him at least.

Though, hearing is very difficult with someone crying in your ear all day. Literally, all day. And not just crying. It differed during the day. Crying, bawling, screeching. Currently it’s crying and she’s so glad for that.

Jamie Hiddleston is a bundle of joy for the most part. But today he’s been crying more than in the last two months combined.

Hanna would like to sit down, but she’s learned that this means ‘crying’ becomes ‘screeching’ and that would mean she starts to cry as well. So she walks around the living room, rocking Jamie, hoping and praying to God, he will quiet down.

She just wants to sit. And shower. And maybe eat. And she wants Tom to be there.

* * *

Tom stops in front of the door and shakes himself like a wet dog, a puddle already forming in the few seconds he’s standing on the doormat.

It had looked overcast all morning, but of course he didn’t take an umbrella along. He hates those things. They seem to hate him too, and have conspired to curse him with a severe case of “buy one today, lose it tomorrow”. In his life, he must’ve lost around a hundred umbrellas already and broken another fifty of them for good measure. Idly, he wonders where those things go. Is there a mysterious lost-umbrella collection place? Can they get recycled only to go through the same thing again? Do they perish and go on to umbrella heaven? Do other people claim them and get cursed too so it’s like a never-ending circle of acquiring and losing umbrellas?

Now there’s a story he can spin for wee Jamie!

With a grin, Tom pushes the hood of his blue hoodie back and runs a hand through his soaking wet and way too curly hair. The hoddie didn’t help a bit against the pouring rain.

Eager for some warmth and dry clothes, Tom pushes the door open–and is greeted by plaintive crying that screws itself into a higher octave until it’s full-out wailing.

Oh dear, it’s one of these days when Little Hiddleston is throwing a tantrum…

* * *

“No,” Hanna groans. “No, no, Jamie, no. Please don’t.”

She lets out a huff and walks to the other side of the living room. Maybe he likes that view better? He doesn’t, as his wail tells her.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Another wail. “Really? You’re two months old and telling me not to swear?”

She’s tried everything already, Hanna is pretty sure about that. Jamie’s dry and fed and has been sung to.

Hanna hears the front door close, Jamie stops for a moment and then starts anew.

“Shi…shoot.” Okay. She’s about to cry herself. Apparently, she had no idea what to do or how to handle a child. Which could cause a problem sometime in the next 18 years or so.

Jamie has everything a child could want: a loving–if rather desperate–mother, a devoted father who’s decided to take things a bit slower and stick around for the first months of his life instead of dragging them to film sets or premieres. More toys than a baby his age should probably have (some of those even sent in or made by fans). Snuggly clothes, a cozy cot, mobiles playing lullabies… The doctor has pronounced Jamie a healthy bundle of joy–or well, wails–so there’s nothing to panick about. But he has these days when he’ll cry his little heart out.

“C’mon now, Little Hiddleston, man up,” she coos, ignoring her aching arms where muscles she never knew she had are screaming from carrying her son for so long. “Big Hiddleston is home, and shouldn’t we be really happy about that? Huh?”

More crying. God help her. And why on earth is it taking Tom so long to come here and save her?

“There now, Jamie, isn’t all that crying tiring you out? Mama will start swearing again if you don’t give her a break.”

“I like it when you swear,” comes a voice from the doorway, raised to drown out the wailing. “There’s something about a beautiful woman with a potty mouth that gets me. Especially if said beautiful woman is my wife.”

“Sweet talking won’t save you from coming in here and take this spawn of Satan!”

He’s hiding, isn’t he? He’s afraid because he knows this is his fault. Well. Not this specifically. But he could have kept his hands to himself a year ago.

“Our child is not the spawn of Satan, I’ve explained this to you before.” This voice is still disembodied, but Hanna can’t go to the hallway either. Jamie doesn’t like the hallway, it’s “screeching” there.

“Then why the heck doesn’t he stop crying? And why are you afraid of him?” She’s gone from rocking to flow-like movements now. Turning her whole body from left to right, but all that she’s achieving is getting dizzy.

“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty,” she starts singing and humming. He likes that song. Jamie knows his music.

* * *

Tom doesn’t know what to do first. Sniffle because somehow this domestic picture looks so…so blessed and normal and fulfilling to him–despite the wailing –or laugh at her indignant tone or rush over and help her because she does look like she needs it.

The singing helps only for a second or two. Tom considers joining his voice with hers but he’s getting rather uncomfortable in his wet clothes.

“I am a god, you dull creature,” he says in his haughty, growly Loki voice. “I am not afraid of tiny wailing mortals, even if they sound as if they could splinter glass.”

There’s a short pause in the crying, as if Little Hiddleston is considering the Loki voice. A moment later, notoriously unimpressed Jamie is wailing again.

“To-hoooom.” Hanna sounds decidedly whiny now. And exhausted. Poor darling. He shouldn’t have left today, but they agreed on all sorts of compromises.

“Love, unless you want me dripping all over the carpet, I’d rather stay here.”

“Dripping?” She sounds utterly bewildered now, even though it’s a bit hard to tell over the ‘musical backdrop’ provided by their son.

“Yes. It’s raining? And I got caught in it?”

“Oh. Oh yeah, rain.”

“You didn’t realise it was raining, did you?”

“I… no. It looked nice outside when I checked last. I think.” Tom has to stiffle a laugh. This isn’t funny, he tells himself. She would bite his head off, if he even considered laughing.

“Han, it’s been raining since lunch.”

Her tone is even more desperate when she answers, “Does it sound or look like I have any idea what time it is now?”

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, like so often. “I’m going to get changed and then I’ll be with you as quick as possible.”

“Change… daddy gets a chance to change,” Tom hears Hanna mumble as he goes to the bedroom. Well, not mumble, he wouldn’t hear that over the sound of wails.

Hanna feels a full-on sulk approaching, substituting raw despair now that Tom’s here. Great, he gets to change. What about her? She was vomited on, drooled on and then cried on so many times she’s probably as soaked as he is.

Swaying and singing doesn’t help a bit, so mutters an exasparated “I give up” and just plonks herself down on the carpet, stroking and patting her tiny bundle of righteous misery. Jamie has a bit of blonde fuzz that’s already beginning to look kind of curly-wavy. And he has Tom’s blue eyes, which is the unfairest thing in the world because now Little Hiddleston and Big Hiddleston are ganging up on her with those puppy dog eyes.

“An angel with a devil lurking inside,” she half-sings, smoothing her hand over the tear-stained chubby cheeks.

“Does that make me an exorcist?” Tom’s voice asks from the doorway.

He’s dressed only in his grey, holey sweatpants, chest bare and hair a half-dry mess.

* * *

She’s the one drooling now. It’s a little embarrassing, but she’s also quite sure she stares. A long time. She almost doesn’t even hear Jamie anymore. Almost.

“That’s so unfair.”

She hears Tom laughing and sees him smirking and only then she realises that she’s said those words aloud.

“What’s unfair?” He saunters over to her, waves a hand through her hair - something she’s crinkling her nose at, she’s not sure when she’s washed it last - gives her a kiss on said unwashed hair, and sits himself down next to her.

“You changed and now you’re pretty and I have vomit in my hair. That’s unfair.”

He chuckles. Hanna wasn’t joking though. “That was very poetic.” To be honest, she has no idea what she’s been saying. But Tom said something nice, so she just smiles. She’s so exhausted. “And you’re pretty too. Now,” he starts, “what do we have here?”

He leans over her to check on Jamie. God, he smells so nice. Both of them. They’re going to be the death of her.

* * *

Poor darling, she really does look exhausted, as if she’s run a marathon, built a house from scratch AND probably fought a war or two.

Tom presses another kiss to her face, this one on a cheek he’s pretty sure has half-dry tears on it. God, hers too? Or only the baby’s?

“Hey now, hey now, Mister Grouchy.” He carefully takes the wiggling, red-faced, squalling infant out of his wife’s arms, his hands so big that he can cradle little Jamie nicely. “What’s got your nappies in a twist then, young man?”

Their son sucks air into his tiny lungs and gives one mighty bellow that makes both of them flinch. And then he quietly stares at his father, snot mixing with spittle.

“One, two…” he hears Hanna say as she slumps against his shoulder.

“Are you counting?” He is a bit afraid to break his son’s stare so he asks it in a hushed voice out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, though I’m not sure I remember basic math today. Counting the seconds he’s keeping quiet until the next howling attack.”

Tom chuckles. “I’m sure it won’t just be a few…” The rest of his sentence is drowned out in renewed crying.

“I’m going to ask you a really stupid question now.”

Since Jamie’s started to wail anyway, Tom risks a glance at his wife, while rocking his son. “Really stupid?”

“The stupidest ever.”

“‘Stupidest, huh?” He smirks at her and despite her exhaustion, he can see a tiny grin forming. “You sure about that?”

She nods against his shoulder, and Tom is not quite sure if she maybe tries to whipe some of that baby vomit off. “Positive.”

“You do remember though, that you’ve once asked me, a few months ago actually, why the fu…dge I wouldn’t try pickles with caramel? It’s worse than that?”

He remembers that night a bit like a car crash. Strange memories of going to the store and meeting the knowing glances of other men, eyeing each other’s groceries.

“I do. Let me ask my stupid question now.” She slaps his arm a little. It doesn’t hurt one bit, Jamie probably is stronger at this point. “And don’t laugh.” Yeah. Because that always ends well. “Am I wearing my pyjamas?”

* * *

As tired as Hanna is, she sways and almost falls flat on her face when Tom shifts and half-turns to give her a weird look. Somehow, he manages to shoot out a steadying arm while still holding Jamie. She can see his mouth twitching and his nose scrunching, but he almost manages not to laugh. One gurgling chuckle makes its way out and he coughs.

How has this man made it so far as an actor? Then again, this is the real Tom, not the actor who should pretty please, finally receive an Oscar. And the real Tom is completely unable to fake something or hold himself back. It’s one of those things she loves about him, that he’s either 100 percent in or finds an honest way out.

But at the moment, even the half-suppresed laugh makes her want to pout for at least a week.

“Han, is it that bad?” Tom has gone from badly disguised mirth to concern in a heartbeat. That look does things to her poor heart… It’s not pity. It’s genuine care. And it’s deadly. To make matters worse, she’s already this close to dying anyway, or at least it feels like it.

“Just answer my question, Tom.”

He nods, shifts wailling Little Hiddleston to brush a hand over her leg and pinch a bit of fabric between two fingers.

“Fluffy? Check. White background with tiny Avengers? Check. And also, vomit streaks on the top? Check. I’m afraid I’ve got terrible news, Mrs. Hiddleston.” He gives her a solemn stare and drops his voice to graveyard-appropriate. “You are suffering from a serious case of ‘I’m still wearing my pyjamas at 7 pm’, fair lady.”

“God, I knew it.” She really holds back tears now. How can she even care for her son, if she isn’t able to even get dressed herself?

Tom’s concerned face and mentioning the time doesn’t help. She feels herself scrunching up her face, looks down, and slowly the tears are forming. This is so embarrassing. Oh, god, does he maybe think she’d incompetent as well?

“It’s just that… I don’t even remember changing yesterday night. And… and I didn’t remember if I’ve changed this morning. And he’s been crying! You think now he’s crying? Try this morning. I’m running around with a crying baby and he only ever stops that to suck on my breast, apparently.”

She hiccups a little, whiping an arm under her nose. Great. Now Tom has to deal with two crying Hiddlestons instead of Hanna supporting him.

She’s even too embarrassed to look up, so she doesn’t know if that “Shh” is meant for her or Jamie.

The next thing she knows, she’s surrounded by a wailing infant and a very solid, very half-naked Tom, who miraculously manages to hug them both at the same time.

“Shh, love, don’t. If you cry, you’ll only get my waterworks going and we all know that’s a bad idea.”

She gives a wet snuffle of a half-chuckle between her tears, but not even Tom’s cooing and attempt at a joke can help.

“But…I just feel like crying,” she confesses, and then it all rushes out in a garbled mess between stifled sobs. “I feel so damn overwhelmed and incompetent and…and…god, I love Jamie, but I don’t know how to handle this. And I hate myself for not knowing. I mean, where’s that famed maternal instinct everyone’s always talking about? Why can’t I get my baby to be happy and sleep? That shouldn’t be so difficult, right? And..and…now you’re probably wondering why the hell you ever agreed to have a family with me, and…”

The rest is muffled by Tom’s chest as he presses her closer and rocks them both.

“Cry then, if you really want to, darling. But never for even one moment think I have regrets. Never!”

“Not even if you have a wife full of snot and vomit?” she lets out a pathetic sniffle against his chest, and she’s pretty sure Jamie is crying even louder now.

Maybe because he’s somehow pressed between two grown-up bodies that are rocking from side to side.

She feels more than hears Tom hum. “I love you full of snot and vomit. So sexy.”

She chuckles a bit, but her tired body is having almost none of it. “God, Tom, I’m exhausted.” Has she mentioned that before? She really is.

“I’m here now. You can relax.” He’s still rocking them, and Hanna’s a little afraid it’s her who’ll fall asleep.

“Can’t,” she mumbles. “Baby hungry soon.”

Tom tries to think of something intelligent to say, but with Jamie screaming and Hanna crying, he’s a bit in over his head. A bit more than a bit, actually.

“How soon?” he asks, rubbing circles on her trembling back.

“Huh?”

“How soon will he be hungry?”

“Dunno,” she mumbled against him, and for a moment he thinks she’ll fall asleep like that. But he can feel her face scrunch up as if thinking is a huge effort. “Ten minutes? Twenty? Dunno.”

He nods, clicks his tongue and somehow gets Little Hiddleston to turn the crying down a notch.

“Why don’t I wrangle Baby Satan for a while? You go have a wash so you’re at least vomit-free.”

“Wash. Yes. Heaven.” She wiggles a bit, which tickles, but he bites down on his lip and juggles holding her and his son. “But what if I take too long?”

“I’ve got this,” he promises, pushing his panick back down. We’ll just come visit you in the bathroom if he’s in danger of starving.”

“’kay. Wash.” He can feel her nod a bit more enthusiastically against him, but she isn’t moving an inch.

“Han?”

“Mhm?”

“You’ll have to get up and go into the bathroom.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I’d love to go all super-husband on you and carry you there, but Little Mister wailling fire alarm here won’t permit it.”

That earns him another exhausted chuckle and a last sniffle before she slowly disentangles herself from his hold.

Tom watches her get up and then Hanna starts shuffling out of the living room.

The little one stops crying for a moment as if he realises something’s changed. Then it seems like he just knows his mummy’s gone and lets out a heartbreaking sniffle. Which slowly turns into a cry, a wail and then all hell breaks loose.

“No, no, no, little one. Don’t do that to me.” Tom is rocking him furiously now, as if that would somehow stop Hanna from noticing what’s going on.

For being so tired his wife - his wife, he sometimes still can’t believe that he actually gets to call her that without having someone tell him he’s crazy - comes back to the living room fairly quick. No, no she’s supposed to do something for herself.

“What did you do? Was it me leaving?”

Before she can come and take Jamie back, Tom manages to stop her. “I’ve got him. I promise. Go get that vomit out of, well, everything. It’s all fine.”

Jamie shows his support with a screech. He’s got that from his mother, Tom thinks to himself. And only to himself.

“I can…”

“Han, go. You’re exhausted. It’s okay.” He can’t look at her to check if she’s actually gone, because just in this moment the crying is the tiniest bit softer and maybe Tom just have to stare intensely.

Miraculously, Hanna does leave this time, but he can imagine how conflicted she must be feeling.

Still staring at wee Jamie, Tom mentally ticks off his checklist–yes, he has a checklist–of things he’s researched that are supposed to calm a baby.

“Let’s see, Little Hiddleston. How about we change the tune a bit?” Tom begins humming and then singing “I Saw the Light” and other slow Hank Williams songs to Jamie, still rocking and swaying him.

No success.

“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He chucks his son under the chin softly before giving him a kiss on his snotty cheek. “Well, with a mommy and a daddy like us, anything else would be a miracle.”

He can barely hear water running over Jamie’s cries, realizing that Hanna has indeed left the bathroom door open.

“C’mon, son, we men need to stick together. Can’t you help me out here a little? If I manage to calm you down, it’ll give me huge brownie points with your lovely mother. I’d bribe you with something, but I can’t think of anything suitable, so I’ll just promise you I’ll help you out with the ladies once the time has come.”

Jami gives him one of those unblinking stares again, silent for one…two…three…four…five seconds. Then he lets out an almighty yell, and Tom can feel something decidedly wet and smelly soaking through.

With a helpless laugh, he shakes his head. “So you think that’s a shit idea, do you?” He groans at the incredible stench. “Nappy changing time, hurray.”

Struggling, but somehow managing to heave himself up from the floor while simultaneously holding on to Baby Jamie, Tom gets up and walks to the nursery.

He manages to hold his son somehow protectivly but not too close in order to not smear anything all over little one’s bum.

The nursery is a dream come true of Disney characters. Not just the fox and the hound and - of course - Baloo and Mowgli found their way in, but modern characters such as Olaf as well.

They decorate one wall while the other three are kept white, the furniture being white as well. Tom loves it in here, not just because it’s the room his son will grow up in.

“Okay, okay, let’s see what mess you’ve made, huh?” He lays Jamie down slowly and softly reaching to his right to fetch a new nappy and baby wipes while holding the infant in place.

No matter how many diapers Tom changes, he’s never quite prepared for what awaits him. “Jesus, shit, Jamie!” He’ll never understand how so much…stuff can come from something so small.

He carefully gets rid of the old nappy. Just as he realises he so definitely needs more wipes, it happens.

Hanna’s always told him he needs to keep the old diaper in place in case of potential accidents that are about to happen. He never listened. He never needed to.

But because it just seems to fit in with the day little Jamie apparently had, it happens today. He pees. Without a new protection, Jamie’s body decides to get rid of some fluids.

Tom has been looking for new wipes so he has his head turned. He curses, shouts (a little) and hastily presses the new diaper onto his son.

The son who now seems to stare at him mockingly before deciding this is definitely the right reason for another wail.

Tom stares at Jamie, feeling something wet drip down his left cheek. The running water from the bathroom has stopped.

“You alright, Tom?” Hanna sounds a tiny bit less exhausted but more worried.

“Yup, just peachy,” he half-shouts back. “You have your shower, love, I’ve got everything under control.” To himself, he mutters, “And I need a shower of my own.”

Cursing himself, he uses half a stack of baby wipes to clean his face of pee, then gets down to business. “Seriously, James Daniel Hiddleston, what’s got you in such a foul mood today?”

His son blinks owlishly for a moment, as if understanding the gravity of being called by his full name–Daniel being Hanna’s father’s name–at such a young age. The next moment, he’s back to squalling, his face red and his tiny fists wiggling.

With a sigh, Tom finishes wiping him down, powders his now clean butt and fixes the new nappy in place. He leans down to blow a raspberry on his son’s fat little tummy, but today he doesn’t even get a half-hearted gurgle of mirth.

He wonders idly whether all that shouting doesn’t tire the little one out, then picks Jamie up. Rocking doesn’t help. Singing doesn’t help. Dry nappies don’t help. What else is there left to do?

“Is it a cry to battle, hm?” he asks his son. “A shout for solidarity? An infant rebellion?”

No answer, of course. And he feels so damn sorry for Hanna and for his tiny colicky bundle. Walking back into the living room, he has a sudden idea.

“Well, if you’re really shouting for solidarity, you’ll get mine.” He plonks himself on the couch–which promptly makes the cries go up in volume–and opens his mouth to let out a hearty, childish wail of his own. “Baaaaahhhh, boohooohoooo,” he cries, matching his pitch as best as he can to his son’s.

And suddenly Jamie stops crying.

* * *

Hanna stands in the bathroom, comb in hand, raised mid-air. She’s just finished the final touches of untangling her hair, still only wrapped in a towel herself.

There’s a second cry mixing with the first one. “What the hell?” she whispers to herself. Tom’s gone crazy. Ten minutes alone with Jamie, and the baby’s managed to do what she hasn’t achieved in years. She’ll now have to care for both of them.

Hanna rushes out of the bathroom, still not dressed but only clad in her towel, and speeds towards the living room where she stops in the doorway. “What on earth…”

Her son is staring at his father, looking like a dear in headlights, but quiet. Instead her husband is bawling, crying and crunching up his face.

“It happened, right? I’ll have to call Luke and tell him that you’ve finally lost it. We’ll publish that statement we wrote and I’ll visit you in the asylum.”

Still, she’s a little proud of him. And a little offended too.

Tom stops for a moment to wink at her, one of those squinchy winky faces that she finds infuriatingly cute. But as soon as he does’t cry anymore, Jamie gives a snuffle and opens his mouth wide, so Tom falls back to bawling.

Shaking her head, Hanna watches. She doesn’t even know what exactly she’s feeling anymore.

“I should grab my phone and record this , then send the video to the Academy Awards nomination committee,” she mutters to herself.

Tom looks like he’ll keep his distracting act up for a while yet, so Hanna shakes her head some more and turns to shuffle into the bedroom. She grimaces at the disorganized mess, wiggles into her nursing bra and wastes a few minutes unsuccessfully searching for sweatpants or shorts and finally settles for one of Tom’s soft t-shirts, worn thin but big enough to reach her thighs. Putting on clothes is useless anyway–baby Jamie will be hungry soon, and all the crying might well lead to more vomiting.

By the time she walks back into the living room, Tom is using Little Hiddleston’s hands to wipe imaginary–and real–tears off his cheeks, alternating it with dramatic sniffles and occasional wails to keep the baby entertained.

God, the things moments like this do to her heart! She’d thought father-to-be Tom was the worst/best with his never-ending questions, awfully joyful eyes and blissful attentiveness, but Tom as a father really can’t be topped.

Hanna slowly walks over to them, careful not to disturb the baby. She settles in on Tom’s left side, her legs on the seat next to her, her head once more on his shoulder.

“God, I love you.” She says it to both of them while smiling at Little Hiddleston in front of her. “Especially you now, Big Hiddleston. Thank you.”

Just as she turns her head to give Tom a kiss on his cheek, he lets out a startled, whisper-shouted, “No! Don’t!” and shifts away from her a little.

“O-kay.” She’s suspicious. Tom looks entirely too preoccupied right now. Too much of the “please don’t ask me what I’ve done now”-look on his face.

Then she takes a sniff. Leans closer to his cheek and takes another one. “Oh,” she snorts. “Oh, this is good.”

“What?” Tom mumbles.

“He got you, right?” Tom doesn’t answer. “You smell like baby wipes. Your cheek smells like baby wipes.”

She tries to hold in her laughter simply so Jamie won’t be startled. She coughs though. A lot.

And her heart melts a little more when baby Jamie makes grunty noises as if he wants to imitate her coughing. Which of course sends Tom into a fake fit of over dramatic coughing so they sound like a pneumonia epidemic or something.

Tom clears his throat, then narrows his eyes at her. “You were totally laughing at me and trying to cover that up.”

Oh dear. “Who? Me? No, sir, wasn’t laughing at all.” She flutters her lashes though that takes considerable effort as she’s still drained of energy.

Something in his eyes shifts and darkens. “You know what calling me ‘sir’ does to me, Hanna.”

Oh. Oh. And he’s called her ‘Hanna’, not ‘love’ or ‘darling’ or ‘Han’. Oh indeed.

“Sorry? Not?”

Tom looks even sterner now, but in a very, very good way that chases a bit of her exhaustion away.

“Just you wait until Little Hiddleston is out cold and in dreamland tonight.”

That voice. Tired as she is, that voice always has an effect on her.

Little mood ruiner par excellence, Jamie picks up his earlier screaming fit now that attention isn’t on him anymore. Before Tom can start bawling again too, she holds out her hands.

“Change of duty. I think our little man needs to be fed. And you need to scrub up a bit.”

With a ‘humph’, Tom transfers their son to her waiting arms. “But I get major brownie points for silencing him for at least a few minutes.”

With a smirk, he trots out of the room.

“So many brownie points you might even get a price for them tonight, Thomas.” The positive thing about being this exhausted is how sexy and sultry her voice sounds.

The footsteps in the hallway falter for a minute, and it sounds like he runs into something, maybe the bathroom door. “Shit, shoot, damn it.”

Hanna snickers and looks down at their tiny bundle. She’s so tired she actually can’t remember which breast she’s used the last time so she does the patting thing nursing women always seem to do.

Tom swears he doesn’t get turned on by something like that since it’s only a natural process, but she does know her husband. He can’t stop staring at her whenever she feeds their son.

Jamie gets a little impatient and struggles, so she soothes him, lifts her shirt, gets a boob out and Little Hiddleston - just like his daddy - immediately latches on.

“Goodness Hiddleston, slow down there.”

“I’m about as slow as they get right now.”

She’s so befuddled and tired she just stares at her son for a full three seconds, thinking ‘Well, that isn’t creepy at all…isn’t he a bit young to talk?” - and then it hits her and her head jerks up.

“What the fu…dge, Tom?! You just scared the living daylights out of me! Why are you still here–or rather, back?”

He looks sheepish for a moment before his gaze zeroes in on her and she can actually see at least three different emotions flicker over his expressive face.

“Tom?” she prompts, then winces when Little Hiddleston–who is of course still toothless but seems to have inherited his daddy’s penchant for nibbly bites–gets too eager.

He blinks and lifts his gaze to her face. “Yes?”

God, she’s too tired for this…but also mildly amused and even mildly turned on.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh. I wanted to ask you whether you put the vomit-decorated clothes into the washing machine or whether I should do that.”

Torn between being touched at his concern and thinking it’s probably a handy excuse to come ogle her for a bit, Hanna sighs.

“Do put them in please, and can you toss in a few other clothes strewn all over the bedroom too?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hiddleston, certainly.”

With a grin, he brushes his hand first tenderly over his nursing son’s fuzzy head and then just as tenderly over hers before walking out again.

* * *

Hanna leans back a little, resting her back against the couch cushions. The little sucking noises slowly lull her in.

Maybe she can close her eyes for one moment? One tiny moment? Tom will be back soon surely?

She hums quietly, thinking that this is her chance to make Jamie sleep. His eyes are still wandering around aimlessly though, taking everything in.

It’ll be a while until he’s finished so she actually could close her eyes. It won’t hurt anyone. And it’ll be just for a second or two.

So, still humming, she does. Head leaning against the backrest, she tries lulling Jamie to sleep.

Gradually the intervals between her hums get longer. With one arm she still strokes her little baby’s side though.

She’s not going to fall asleep. Definitely not.

* * *

When Tom walks back in, he feels as if his heart will burst right out of his chest. Surely the rain would stop if it could look inside the window, and turn into glorious sunshine? He feels a bit poetic, debates getting his phone, and then simply walks closer on his tip-toes.

Hanna has fallen asleep, the tiniest of serene smiles on her face, her hair framing it in sweet disarray, and their son cradled close.

Little Hiddleston is asleep as well, his mouth still loosely attached to one breast and one tiny fist resting over his mother’s heart.

And right then, right there, Tom realizes he feels as completely and incadescently happy as a man can feel.

He whispers to himself a quote by Omar Khayyam that encapsulates perfectly what he feels right now. “Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.” Then he creeps closer still, smiling so widely his mouth hurts a bit. Afraid he’ll jostle and wake the two loves of his life if he joins them on the couch, he sits crosslegged on the floor as close to them as possible and just looks his fill.

Until Jamie open his eyes and seems to look right at him.

Tom panics for a moment, fearing that all hell will break loose if his son decides to start screaming again.

Because then he will not only have to deal with his son, but probably with his newly awoken wife as well.

And Tom couldn’t blame her, really. She’s had a long day. Well, she’s had long two months actually.

So, in order to calm him before Jamie even gets the chance to do anything, Tom slowly strikes his index finger up and down his son’s chubby cheek.

“Shh, your mother kills me if you dare to whimper right now, little one.”

Jamie’s eyes flutter close again, his mouth leaving his mother’s breast, his fingers curling a little where they rest.

So, Tom has time to look at Hanna properly. She has dark circles under her eyes, but she still looks beautiful. Even more beautiful than before, Tom thinks to himself. The pregnancy already made her glow, but being her mother; she positively shines.

He’s reached a stage where just about everything is precious to him. The simplest things will touch his heart and embed themselves forever in his brain. How she has that special, typically maternal way of holding the son. How her body seems to shield the infant instinctively. How she manages to smile with so much love even when she’s being vomited on or hasn’t slept a full eight hours for months.

Tom thought it would be difficult to stay at home, just read scripts and do a spot of promo here and there–and give interviews where he inevitably gushes about becoming and being a father (though he doesn’t share personal photos). But it isn’t. It feels right. And Hanna and he agreed that he won’t give up acting, just take things a bit slower for the first few months.

And so he settles more comfortably and mentally composes a list of things that might make Hanna happy if and when she wakes up.

As if she’s heard his thoughts, she stirs all too soon, her eyes flying open wide. Her head lifts with a gasp and she blinks furiously.

“I didn’t fall asleep. Or did I?”

“Of course you didn’t, love,” Tom answers and Hanna blinks owlishly at him. Since when is he back? That’s unexpected. She’s only closed her eyes a little. Did he ninja his way over here?

“Right. Didn’t.”

“That’s why you totally noticed me coming in here, without so much as acknowledging my presence. That hurts a little, Han.” Okay, she gets it. She knows when she’s being mocked, and this is one of those moments.

“You’re also absolutely aware that our son is asleep.” She risks a - hopefully - unnoticed glance at the boy in her arms. Huh. Would you look at that? That may even make her cry. “You’ve only let him latched on to your breast because he loves boobs, and you wanted to make him happy.”

She rolls her eyes at that. Okay. She fell asleep. But really just for a few minutes though. And also… “Do I get a price for making him sleep? Though, you can just stay shirtless. That’s a good price as well,” she then grins.

Tom wiggles his brows. “Only if you keep showing off your…legs. Let’s not keep your breast out, right?” Still, she sees his eyes wander. His smile turns so lovingly though; Hanna hopes it’s for his son, right at said exposed breast.

“I can show it to you tonight,” she winks and chuckles at his tiny ‘whoop!’.

He backtracks soon, though. “You’ve got every right to sleep, you know that, right?”

He really is too good to be true. She’d love to take his hand or pull him closer, but she settles for gingerly moving her free hand to his head in slow motion and threading it through the longish, now soft and dry curls.

“Do I have a right to eat too?”

Welp, where did that comment come from? She was going to say something monumental and loving and have him give her that angelic smile again–but sleep must’ve stolen her last remaining brain cells.

Tom chuckles, leaning lightly into her touch and glancing from Jamie to her and back.

“I’d like to pretend you meant that in a deliciously naughty way, but I’m not getting my hopes up too high.” His eyes crinkle and sparkle in that wonderful way. Yup, her two seconds of sleep have definitely made her more alert to those things. Hah, and who is she kidding now–she’s always alert when it comes to Tom being the best kind of life ruiner…

“What would you like to eat, love?” He’s already shifting, unfolding his body bit by bit. Hanna takes a moment to groggily ogle the way that makes his muscles shift and cord.

Oh yes, hungry…for more than food, desptite the bone-deep exhaustion. How does he do it?

“Uh–what?”

“‘What’? Yeah, that’s what I asked, Han.” She can see the amusment in his eyes. He’s unfolded himself a little more now, sitting back on his heels to sit in front of her now.

His fingers tickle the side of her knee, and the mischievous smirk tells her he’s up to no good.

“What…” The simple word is accentuated by a soft touch up and down her shin.

Hanna herself breathes a little harder and swallows. “…would you…” Another touch, the knee this time, with a kiss on top of it. “…like to…” he kissed a little higher.

When Tom reaches her thigh, he finishes his sentence, “eat.” A little nibble at the end for good measure.

She’s breathing even harder now and is embarrassed to admit that she holds on to Jamie a little harder. “Uhm. Something… light. Light is good, yeah.”

She nods a little dazed, meeting Tom’s eyes as he’s put his chin on Hanna’s knee and looks up to her. He smirks, that little shit.

“Something light coming right up.”

He rubs his slightly scruffy chin against her leg again, and it makes her shudder.

Jamie gives a grunt but mercifully sleeps on. Instead of getting up just yet, Tom runs his hand over her thigh and hip upwards, soft as a butterfly. He tugs her (well, his) t-shirt into place over her boobs, muttering with a wink, “Far too tempting to keep things ‘light’. You know how weak these beauties make me.”

Hanna swallows thickly. Right now, he’s making her weak. She doesn’t even feel hungry anymore. In fact, why doesn’t she lift her free hand to pull him closer for a proper kiss?

Just when she thinks that’s the best idea she’s had all day, her stomach gives an almighty rumble.

Tom muffles his ‘ehehehe’ behind a hand and finally rises to his full height.

“Sounds like this demanding tummy won’t brook any objection. I’ll be extra quick, I promise.”

With a kiss to her hair, Tom disappears towards the kitchen, whistling softly to himself.

Hanna pouts. Actually, it’s more than a pout. All she gets today seems to be little innocent kisses on her head or cheek.

She scrunches up her nose a bit, shifting Jamie gently as she thinks about it. There was a kiss on the cheek when he left this morning. A kiss on her hair, a kiss on her cheek and touches. And a kiss on her leg just yet.

Why the heck wouldn’t he kiss her, she wonders as she prepares to burp Jamie. Yes, he’s probably going to wake up, but it’s better than vomit, she figures.

She fishes for one of those blankets that lie around basically every room, drapes it around her shoulder and shifts Jamie, so he’s resting with his head against her neck. He wiggles just a little bit, and Hanna breathes a sigh of relief.

She herself is still hungry, but there are more important matters. Like, why hasn’t she been kissed properly since yesterday?

Is it because she looks as ugly as she’s feeling? Must be that. Ugh, she probably makes a good zombie bride, but Tom isn’t Frankenstein’s Monster, so he’s probably squicked by those huge rings under her eyes and her lazy-slut style.

Pyjamas aren’t sexy, coated in vomit or not. But isn’t she wearing his t-shirt now, showig off her legs?

Her pout grows fiercer still. And he covered her boobs! Oh no, that must really mean he doesn’t find her attrative.

Huh, who would, all she’s done since he returned home is whine or doze or freak him out with a crying bundle of wails.

Looks like she needs to bring the seduction game on. But she’s still so tired she isn’t even sure she could spell seduction right if someone asked her.

Jamie wriggles some more and burps, and she pats his back and coos. Defiantly, she uses her free hand to tug on Tom’s loose t-shirt so it reveals a good deal of shoulder and a hint of cleavage. Idly, she wonders whether she should get some food on her chest as a fool-proof way to have Tom’s hands on her again. She. Needs. That. Kiss.

In the past two months, Hanna’s never been so happy not to have vomit or any other bodily fluids on her.

She wonders if she should maybe bring Jamie to his nursery, but she’s a little afraid, she’ll fall asleep as soon as her hands are empty.

So, Jamie stays and Hanna actually finds a reason to lift the shirt a little bit, wiggling on the couch to have Jamie in a more comfortable position - of course. It’s not her fault, the shirt rises on her thighs a little bit as a result.

When Tom comes back, a plate with fruits, crackers and her favourite cheese in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, she puffs out her chest a little, even making her son move a few inches up.

She tries humming again, this time in a deeper, sultrier voice. “Ooooooh,” she then moans, closing her eyes and licking her lips, “you honestly are the best, Thomas.”

Tom stops mid-step, the crackers wobbling on the plate.

He’s been so proud of himself, giving himself a pep talk in the kitchen that he was NOT supposed to find Hanna sexy in her current state of exhaustion. He mentally patted himself on the back for tugging her shirt up instead of burying his mouth where his son’s had just been.

And now he comes back to this?

Christ almighty, how’s a man to resist his wife when she’s all temptingly spread out like this and cooing praise?!

He blinks slowly, tries to breathe and grips the water bottle a bit tighter.

It’s his mind playing tricks on him. His somewhat neglected libido kicking in. Surely he’s misinterpreting all those signals. Han doesn’t want to seduce him, she’s just getting comfy. And her voice is probably husky because she needs sleep.

Tom licks his lips and searches for his normal voice, not quite finding it.

“Your light dinner, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

Is he imagining things or is her smile extra sultry and not just happy? He wants to pinch himself to see whether he’s so needy he’s hallucinating now, then remembers he’s still carrying plates. So he walks over and sets them down on the coffee table carefully.

“Here, let me get Little Hiddleston so you can munch to your heart’s content.”

Is that…is she pouting now? Does she have any idea how badly he wants to kiss her and sink his teeth into her bottom lip when she pouts like this?

“I thought you’re going to feed me,” she says, and suddenly breathing is difficult again.

 “I’m afraid we… we’ll get crumbs all over Jamie if I feed you. Then he’ll cry again. I shouldn’t feed you.” Her husband is stammering, Hanna realises. Is he so appalled by her that he now needs to fish for reasons?

“I see,” she answers, trying to keep her voice light. But then Hanna thinks to herself that she won’t give up so easily. She wants to be kissed by her husband especially after a day like this.

So she sits a little straighter and waits until Tom is seated next to her. He does so a little reluctantly it seems. Yeah, well, if that doesn’t make her feel sexy…

He holds out his arms to dance the quite difficult, and sometimes ridiculous, dance of trying to get a sleeping baby from one parent to another. Are Tom’s hands a little shaky? Is she so exhausted that her eyes betray her now? Probably.

Instead of handing over Jamie Hanna sighs a little. “Uh, finally time for the adults to cry…out.”

Tom stiffens next to her, but then chuckles in a way that sounds way too forced. “I’ve already done the fake crying, you’ve done the real crying, I think we’re good.” He still holds out both arms, raising a brow slowly now.

Hanna swallows. It’s never been so difficult to seduce her husband. Her very silly, but still incredibly hot husband. She’s starting to hate him a little bit for that.

She loves him more than she hates him, though. And she wants him quite a bit now. Almost as much as her stomach wants food, and that’s saying a lot.

With what she hopes is some sultry lashes-fluttering and doesn’t just make her look like a bad-sighted imbecile, Hanna finally hands Jamie over–who miraculously settles in after making tiny, adorable gurgling sounds.

“There’s a lot of noises to make,” she adds. “Doesn’t have to be crying.”

She sees Tom swallow as hard as if he’d just forced a golf ball down his throat.

He gives her a goofy grin that looks a bit fake. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on smacking your lips and scarfing down your lovingly prepared food like a snuffling, drooling pig?”

Hanna resists the urge to roll her eyes. Yeesh, why is this so difficult?

“Who says I was talking about eating?”

There’s that slow blink again, as if Tom is questioning his sanity and at the same time trying to do complicated math in his head. And she knows all too well that the latter never does much good.

When that is the only reaction she gets, she gives him another hopefully meaningful stare before shifting on the couch–on the pretense of getting comfortable to eat, but really to flash him a teeny bit of panty when she curls her legs up. They aren’t exactly her sexiest panties–comfort is top of the list these days–but Tom’s gaze predictably zeroes right in on them, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Point scored! Feeling ridiculously triumphant, Hanna pops a cracker with cheese into her mouth.

Tom is hallucinating. He must be. There’s no way that Hanna would try to seduce him after the day she’s had.

His throat is very dry, though. Was it always this hot in the living room? And why isn’t Hanna wearing any trousers? She should definitely wear trousers. Loose fitting ones.

But honestly, she can’t be up for that. Can she? Something in his body is definitely up, though. Tom shifts and adjusts himself a little.

He also leans forward, careful not to juggle Jamie around so much, and gets the water bottle, gripping it tight. Instead of pouring it into a glass - he’s shaking too much anyway - he drinks straight from the bottle.

It really is hot here. He basically gulps it down, his wife must think he’s crazy.

Oh yes, definitely a point scored. Hanna hides her smug grin behind a mouthful of fruit pieces, then asks as innocently as she can, “Tom, wasn’t the water bottle for me?”

He looks at the almost empty bottle, at her and back at the bottle he’s clutching so tightly. “Oh. Sorry, love. M-must be all the fake crying to entertain wee Jamie. I’ll get you a new one.

More to himself than to her, he mutters again, “Oh, yes, should totally go get a new one. Definitely.”

Before she can swallow her food and say something to keep him here, Tom is off the couch with their son still cradled safely and sleeping as if he wasn’t satan’s spawn.

Desperately, she thinks of something else. “Maybe you could settle Little Hiddleston in his room then, grab the baby monitor and come back so we can…enjoy a peaceful moment?”

“I…” Tom is looking pretty panicky and holding Jamie closer, as if he’s a shield and lifebuoy in one.

“Do you think that’s such a good idea? He’ll start wailing the moment I put him down.”

“Let’s risk it,” she insists, although inside she’s a mess of doubts and worries. Is she reading him wrong? Perhaps he really doesn’t feel attracted to her right now? He’s as difficult to seduce and as skittish as a teenage virgin, for god’s sake.

But then he turns to leave and she catches a definitive bulge in his sweatpants.

So, while Tom is gone to get that child of them to bed (hopefully), Hanna gets ready for the next phase (hopefully).

After grabbing a few more crackers, fruit and cheese - she is hungry after all - she sits back a little. Without a baby to hold she can put both hands on the couch, right next to her body, press her arms against her sides and push.

Hanna looks down, a triumphant smile on her lips. Yes, those should do the job. Her breasts are covered but the shirt is thin and Tom will definitely see what’s beneath the thin thread.

She hears hesitant footsteps and snickers to herself one more time before leaning forward a little and looking at her legs and feet spread out before her.

As she hears Tom enter, Hanna looks up, giving him an innocent yet not so innocent smile. “You think I need a pedicure?” Then she lifts one leg a little wiggling her foot before Tom.

He swallows - again -, stares for a bit and then hastily turns around. “Water,” she hears him mumble. “I need to… you need your water. Just. Water.” And he’s gone.

For the love of all that’s holy, is she planning on killing him? Either he’s gone out of his mind–not entirely implausible–or this is payback for all those times when he couldn’t be there when she puked her heart out, craved crazy food or rocked a squalling Jamie alone.

Tom wipes his shaky hands on his sweatpants–still tented all too visibly–and grabs another water bottle in the kitchen.

She’s probably so exhausted she should sleep for two days without break, not be jumped by him and devoured, preferably several times until he’s just as exhausted.

Shit. Fucking damit, he shouldn’t have allowed that thought because now all he can think of is Hanna writhing beneath him and using that husky voice to tell him exactly what she wants him to do to her.

“Get it together, Hiddleston,” he mutters. On a desperate whim, he walks to the fridge, opens the door and sticks his head inside. The cold helps…somewhat.

But he could’ve used a blizzard or two when he walks back into the living room to find Hanna wiggling out of her nursing bra , mercifully still with her/his t-shirt on.

“What… how… hngh.” His mouth goes dry. Well, drier. And with it goes the ability to speak as it seems. Tom really feels like a teenager who’s never seen boobs in his life. And he doesn’t even see them now, either.

“What was that?” Hanna asks and looks up from what she’s doing - what the hell is she doing?! - to innocently smile at him. Her one hand still juggles with the t-shirt and her other hand is holding the bra almost triumphantly.

“You… I’ve got your water.” He holds up one hand and isn’t even sure if it’s the one with the bottle. He’s not sure of a lot of things right at this moment.

“Can you give it to me, Tom?” Can he… is she serious?! Oh, she means the water. Right?

“Can I…” His voice doesn’t quite sound like him. “I’ll bring you the water yes.” He takes careful steps, honestly he feels like a boy right now, though is thoughts are far from innocent. The way he knows Hanna’s boobs are free underneath and not much is separating him from them…

“Ugh, so glad I’m out of that thing. They really need space. They’re so… tight at the moment you know?”

Tom doesn’t know anything. Absolutely nothing. All he hears in his brain is ‘give it to me’ and ‘tight’.

He’s right in front of her now. He could just lean forward… but no. Not going there. He basically throws the water bottle at Hanna, contemplating, if he should maybe just have a bath in a tub full of ice.

Then his lovely wife pats the seat next to her. “Come sit.”

“Think, Hiddleston,” he berates himself silently–but how does a man think when all his blood has gone decidedly farther south?

“Uh…sit?” Wow, so eloquent. His parents would be proud of him.

“Yes, Thomas, that’s what a couch is for you, you know?” Is that a mischievous sparkle in Hanna’s eyes? And why doesn’t anyone give him an award for looking at her eyes and not at her now freed boobs, which he knows will be all soft yet firm and still extra luscious, and…and… What’s his name?

“Tom?!” She is raising her brows at him, and he still can’t form words.

Hanna reaches out to take his hand, probably to tug him down next to her–but her fingers lack aim and brush against his thigh instead, far too close where they definitely shouldn’t be right now if she doesn’t want her eye poked out.

Jumping back, Tom stammers his way out of this horror. “Sit, yes. Sure. In a moment, love. Let me just…yes, let me just take that food tray back into the kitchen. It’ll be in the way.”

Now those raised eyebrows are being wiggled. “Ooooh, does that mean there’ll be something to ‘get in the way’ of?”

Bloody hell, why?!

Barely managing to not spill the tray’s remaining contents all over the carpet, Tom flees.

Hanna’s more amused than hurt by now. Well, still a little hurt. But Tom’s arousal is very obvious right about now. She just wants to know why he’s so adamant not to do anything about it.

He flees from her, basically and she’s not too sure what to do now besides actually undressing herself fully. She’s a little afraid he’ll run for the hills then, though.

Maybe it’s just the living room that makes him uncomfortable? The place of snot and vomit and tears isn’t the best place for sexy times maybe.

So Hanna get up and after him to the kitchen. “You’ve been here way too long,” she announces as she opens the door.

Tom stands by the fridge, one hand gripping the counter on his left side tightly. He jumps about two feet when she enters.

No!

Why did she have to come find him? Just when he thought he had himself under enough control to go back and pretend he didn’t want to shag her in every possible way, preferably all night long.

“You kept me waiting for so long I almost fell aslep.”

Tom feels like a martyr suffering in the worst way when she confronts him with a way too kissable pout and her arms crossed, which makes her boobs stand to attention beneath the t-shirt and outlines her nipples so clearly he can almost feel their furled tightness in his mouth.

Fuck, not even the coldest freezer would be able to help him now.

His fuzzy brain latches onto one word. “Asleep? Yes, great idea. You must be completely knackered. Why don’t you go to bed?”

He really must’ve lost his marbles because surely she doesn’t look triumphant and even sultrier right now when she gives him the most angelic smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He’s still trying to analyse whatever the hell she means when she’s walked close enough to rise on her toes and loop her arms around his neck–and that traitorous t-shirt stretches up to give him an eyeful of panties. “Will you escort me to bed, husband?”

“To bed?!” Now even his voice sounds like he’s in puberty.

Surely he imagines the grin, the twist of Hanna’s lips, that is gone just as quick as it came.

“Well, yeah. You’ve already left me alone on the couch, I think it’s just fair that you take me. To bed, I mean.”

His brain still tries to process ‘take me’ when Hanna comes even closer to whisper in his ear, “I promised you a peek, haven’t I?”.

Tom’s whole body is rigid. His wife is practically pressed against him and he just hopes she ignores whatever she feels poking her down there.

Meanwhile he’s even afraid to close his arms around her. Surely he’s going to lift her up on the counter, rip those stupid panties away and ‘take her’ for real. Yeah. Better not think about that.

So Tom simply holds his arms behind his back. He must look so stupid like that. He doesn’t even care because from this angle he has full view of Hanna’s boobs and somehow he even forgets where he is in this moment.

He startles a little as he blinks and suddenly realises that his head definitely gravitated towards his wife’s cleavage. So he shakes his head a little, but she’s right there, staring at him.

“So? Bed?” she asks and does the blinking, fluttering thing with her eyes again.

“Yeah, sure.”

It’s more of a squeaky croak than a proper answer, but at this moment, it’s the best he can force out. Because not only is she still pressed snugly against him with all those lush curves begging to be gripped and nipped, but he’s also caught her scent now. A bit of baby, lots of soap, a hint of cheese and fruits–and so much pure feminine Hanna that his last functioning one-and-a-half brain cells kick the bucket.

He has only one hope left: that she falls asleep the minute her head hits the pillow. If she doesn’t…he has no idea what he’ll do if she doesn’t.

It’s been a few months since they’ve had sex or even simply had much time for touching–if you don’t count the few stolen touches and kisses in between and the one blissful Sunday morning when Tom licked Hanna to heaven and back before Little Jamie decided fun was over and started to yell.

Christ, that was a monumentally bad idea, thinking of those moments with his face buried between her legs and Hanna muffling her noises in a pillow.

“Bed.” Tom grabs her hand and all but yanks her away before taking long strides to their bedroom. Somehow, he needs to find the strength to settle her in and hightail it to another room to let her get her well-deserved rest. Heck, even a run in the rain sounds easy compared to keeping his hands off her tonight.

* * *

Hanna follows with a grin. A big grin. She’s got him to go to the bedroom, it’ll be so easy from there on. She even has to hurry after him, he’s so eager.

When they arrive in the room, though, he all but leaves her standing in the entrance. He walks to the closet and yanks the door open. What the hell?

“Here!” He’s even shouting now, and Hanna has to suppress a giggle. “Take these. Wear these. I don’t care.”

Tom throws some loose fitting sweatpants her way.

“Well, Thomas. Usually you and I undress first before going to bed. Not put more clothes on.”

She hides her grin and settles for a pout again when Tom turns so fast he almost loses his footing.

“What the…” he mutters. “What is even there to undress?!” It’s a squeak, and Hanna almost can’t hold in her laugh.

Instead she tugs on the shirt she’s still wearing and smiles at him.

“No, don’t tug on it!” Great, he’s kind of shouting at Hanna. Why can’t he keep his shit together?

Tom fails to supress a groan when she bends to retrieve the sweatpants that have dropped to the floor and gives him another torturous eyefull of cleavage.

She holds the pants out to him, and for the love of god, he can’t read her expression at all now.

“I’m still pretty tired.” There go those lashes again, fluttering like her pulse does it whenever he sets his teeth on her neck just so, and… Nope, not going to think about that. She said ‘tired’, that’s the key word here, Hiddleston. Belatedly, he realizes she’s speaking again. “Can you help me into them, as you’re so adamant that I need to sleep clothed tonight?”

Jesus freaking Christ, he’s not going to survive this. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s already died and goen straight to hell.

Gritting his teeth hard, Tom goes to his knees in front of Hanna and waits for her to lift a leg so he can slip the sweatpants on.

From his new position, he can see way too much, smell way too much. Maybe he should stop breathing for a bit?

It takes every last ounce of self-control not to look up her legs and catch a glimpse of heaven. Perhaps she’s damp for him, perhaps she wants him as much as he wants her?

But no, it can’t be. And so he squeezes his eyes shut and fumbles blindly.

He’s surprised he’s doing so well. He can do this. Yes.

And then ‘yes’ turns into a definitive ‘no’ when Hanna tries to catch her balance and winds a hand into his hair, tugging a fistful of it.

It reminds him so much of what she does when he kisses her down there that Tom reacts on pure instinct. The next moment, his mouth is on her thigh, giving her a nip and a soothing lick.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, finally,” she rushes out, before tugging on Tom’s hair a bit more.

He lets out a grunt and uses the hand he used for fumbling with her sweatpants with to hold on to her knee, while nipping the soft skin of her inner thigh.

But he’s already been there today, and she really really needs him somewhere else right now.

So she holds his head in place and manages to get closer to him. Pressing against him with her barely covered lower body until his face rests where she wants it most.

But instead of moaning in pleasure the next thing that leaves Hanna’s mouth is a grunt of frustration.

Instead of latching on, her husband just shakes his head, and she is almost sure she can hear him whimper.

“No. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me. Oh goodness.”

Okay, that’s it. It’s difficult enough to even feel remotely sexy in a nursing bra and panties her Oma would wear, but this refusal is slowly getting on her nerves.

“For the love of all that’s holy, Hiddleston, if you don’t kiss me somewhere higher than my knee right now, I swear to god I’m going to either kill you or get a divorce.”

“You’re going to what?!”

Tom moves so fast that his head bumps her thigh and he half-falls backward, landing on his ass.

He was so hell-bent on not snapping completely with her so temptingly close that he’s caught only a word here and there–but it’s enough to shock the living daylights out of him.

See? He knew it would come to this! All this evening, he tried so hard to give Hanna some peace and rest–because damn it, that’s what a gentleman and a caring husband does when his wife looks like she’s had a hellish day. And so close to the finishing line, his stupid libido has to get the better of him and make him kiss her. And now she wants a divorce?!?!?!

Right about now, he could really use those brain cells that buggered off earlier. His mouth opens and closes silently for a few times, and then he stutters, holding his hands up, “I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry, Han. I…I’ll leave you in peace tonight. I know you’re tired and I am not going to force myself onto you, so…”

The rest of his words gets caught in his throat when Hanna makes a sound he’s rarely ever heard her make and then bursts into tears, collapsing on the bed.

Shit. Fuck.

Tom carefully gets to the bed himself, nearing it like Hanna was a scared animal. Also, he really needs the time to give his brain a little blood back that it’s lost.

He sits down next to her and slowly pats her knee. Hanna flinches and Tom immediately retreats. He knew it. She’s appalled.

“Am I really that unattractive to you?” his wife sobs, and Tom moves his head so fast for the second time in as many minutes that he’s afraid he gets whiplash.

Hanna’s body shakes and she has the hands pressed against her face, effectively hiding herself from him. She doesn’t… how in hell would this evening tell her she’s unattractive? Tom’s had a hard time to be a gentlemen all throughout the evening. Literally.

“You’re what?!” His voice is back to squeaking. And what about that divorce? “I’m a little confused here.”

“You’re an idiot, that’s what you are,” comes the muffled reply from behind Hanna’s hands. Well, he kind of deserved that.

Think. He needs to think. Only he can’t…because although his arousal has lessened he’s so worried now that his brain still won’t work like it should.

“Yes. You’re right, I am. But…why?”

Her sobs are turning into sniffles and he’s still afraid to hug her because she’d probably misunderstand that too.

Instead of explaining things, she asks him another question. “Tom, tell me honestly–do you find me hideous?”

“Do I what now, love? Why?!”

Her voice rises. “Don’t ask me why, give me an honest answer.”

Women! They really are a mystery… Shaking his head to himself and still frowning, Tom tries to get his mind and voice to work. “Han, you’re about as far from hideous as a woman can get. In fact, you’re way too sexy wearing my t-shirt and frying my poor brain cells with that sultry voice.”

All that gets him is a snort and a snuffle. “Lying stupid flatterer.”

Praying it won’t get him killed–what was that comment about divorce all about, dammit?–Tom reaches out and slowly pulls her hands away from her face.

“Look at me, love. You know I’m a terrible liar. When I say I find you beautiful and irresistible, I sure as hell mean it.”

With watery eyes and a pout, she studies his face. Maybe he’s imagining things in his befuddled state, but he thinks he sees a hint of a smile–but then she wails again, hopefully not waking the sleeping Jamie. “Then why the fuck don’t you kiss me?”

What?! She…she wants him to kiss her? But…but if he kisses her, he’ll lose his last laughable bit of self-control and take her.

Hanna doesn’t know whether to love or cry at this point. Tom looks like he witnessed his mother kicking a puppy.

“I… But I can’t, Han.” Great, he’s back at stammering now.

“‘I can’t’ isn’t a valid point, Tom,” she grits out. If he doesn’t make a move soon she’s going to hit his head in that headboard.

He looks at her with big sad - albeit confused - eyes now. “You’re tired.”

Well, yes. They got that covered over the evening. “Yes.”

Tom’s stare gets a little more intense. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m that as well, yes.”

“Then how can I kiss you and ravish you, when all you should do after a day like this is to sleep?!” He looks utterly bewildered now. So that’s what all of this was about?

“Tom, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I’m also incredibly horny.” If that doesn’t get him going, Hanna’s going to live somewhere else for the next 18 years, because she can’t think of a time when she won’t be exhausted with a child in the house.

It takes a long moment for all of her words to sink in.

See, she’s admitted it. She’s tired, she’s exhausted, and it was the right thing to…wait, what?!

Tom blinks, then gives his head an experimental shake. He really must’ve lost those last brain cells because his ears are playing tricks on him now. Surely she didn’t just say she’s horny?!

“S-say that again.”

“Ugh, for the love of god, Thomas William Hiddleston, is it so outrageous to think I might want you? Can’t a woman be tired and also need a kiss? Can’t she want her husband to just take over the reins and not only pamper her and care for her but also tie her down and do with her willing body whatever he wants?”

That’s it. Tom is pretty sure this is the exact moment when he stops thinking or maybe even being a functioning human being.

“Off with the t-shirt.”

Hanna’s mouth drops open and she blinks at him, some tears still on her cheeks.

“Wha-what?”

“You want me to take over? You need a kiss? You want me? Us?” He makes his voice stern, deep and low.

Her mouth snaps shut and she nods vigorously, which makes her boobs bounce and his arousal return with full force.

“Well then, you heard me. Take. It. Off.”

It’s been a while since they’ve done this–but Tom can see he’s pushed the right button…finally.

Face flushing and eyes shiny, Hanna wiggles out of the t-shirt so fast she gets tangled in it for a moment. When it’s free, Tom has already scooted closer. He gathers her disheveled hair in one hand in a makeshift ponytail and tugs softly, angling her head.

“Are you really sure?”

There isn’t a moment’s hesitation before she whispers ‘yes’.

And so he kisses her.

* * *

And god, how he kisses her. She’s hot and cold at the same time and her hands desperately try to grab at something. Preferably Tom, but all she manages to do is grabbing the sheets.

She moans into the kiss, trying to press closer to Tom, but he’s having none of it. “No,” he groans, moving away slightly while simultaneously tugging on Hanna’s hair more. “If you want me to take the reins, then let me.”

She swoons. Yes, she’s on the bed but still. She’s dizzy and aroused and she doesn’t even know her own name. “Tom…,” she moans.

“No. Talking,” he grits out, pressing down hard on her. “Not until I say so.”

He may sound like he’s in control–well, hopefully, he still has way too much blood down south–but has a hard time–harhar, pun intended–to not snap and take Hanna now.

She looks so willing and already so far gone, chest heaving and offering up her ripe nipples, legs instinctively spreading in invitation.

God, if she’s even half as needy as he is, this will be over before it’s really begun. But he doesn’t want it to. He’s missed her terribly, although their love is so much more than just a physical connection.

Taking two deep breaths through his nose–which doesn’t help, because now he can smell how much she wants him–Tom gathers himself.

“These need to go off.” He hooks his fingers into her panties, swallowing hard at the damp spot on the cotton, and drags them off. Then he glides his hands up her legs, alternating between soft caresses and digging his fingers in. He spreads them and props them up, then just looks his fill hungrily until Hanna is writhing and biting her lip to hold whimpers in.

“So. Fucking. Beautiful. Don’t you ever dare think otherwise,” he growls. “Desirable, and all mine. He settles between her legs, simply letting her feel his weight and grinding a little.

“Mine.” He presses kisses to her neck, making sure the last one leaves a mark and has her moaning brokenly.

“Mine.” He cradles a full breast and gives it as much loving attention as he can without embarrasing himself.

He knows it’ll be even harder - pun still intended - but he can’t control himself not to run his hand back down Hanna’s body.

From her breast his fingertips run down smoothly, tickling at the underside of her breast, her ribs, her belly and lower still.

Tom’s teeth are nipping Hanna’s lips, their noses touch as do their cheeks as he feels Hanna inhale sharply, wiggling beneath him.

His fingers have found their way to her center in the meantime and finally touching her slick folds makes him both so very eager for more and want to cherish this at the same time.

Hanna’s cry is muffled by their mouths melting together. As much as Tom wants to prepare her first, he’s sure he - and she - won’t be able to make it that far. So instead of using his fingers, his hand travels up again, taking Hanna’s hand along the way.

Their other hands join them on the bed over their heads, gripping tight. Tom leans heavily on her, trying not to pant as hard as his body wants him to.

“You ready?” he murmurs, nibbling on Hanna’s lips softly, feeling her nod.  
“You think you can keep fairly quiet?” Tom’s voice is a rough rumble, doing the worst wicked things to her just like his touch and his weight on her does.

Hanna licks the pleasantly sore lip he’s been nibbling, and his tongue touches hers before sliding deep inside her mouth and making the same rhythmic motions she desperately, finally wants him to make between her quivering legs.

“I…” She hauls in air when he draws back a fraction, still so close that their lips are touching softly. “I don’t know. I need you so fucking much, Tom.”

She can feel more than see Tom smile. In one of those typically Tom moment of tenderness in the middle of all the heat, he nudges her nose with his.

“And you’ll have me, my beautiful, needy wife. Now, and for the rest of your life.”

He shifts, teases her with glides of his hardness against her slickness, makes her whimper again when he brushes her tiny bundle of sensitive nerves.

“If you feel like screaming, bite me instead.” The look he gives her is almost feral and makes a shiver race dow her spine.

The shiver ends in a half-moan, half-hiss when Tom bucks his hips to slide home in one long, agonizingly slow and perfectly stretching thrust.

He’s told her to, and so she does. Hanna bites down on his shoulder. Hard and almost immediately.

Tom groans in response and Hanna thinks that noise is going straight to her core.

He alternates his thrusts, going from slow and steady to hard and fast and back to steady.

Hanna is sure she’s seeing stars, her head fuzzy, blood rushing to her head and a ringing sound in her ears.

She meets every single one of his thrusts with one of her own. Her hips moving along. They nibble, they bite and they pant.

And then there’s a third voice. A noise that wasn’t there before. Is that…

“Tom,” she moans and realises that it will probably not make him stop. She takes deep breaths again, trying to pump enough oxygen to her head.

“Tom, wait, stop. Jamie.” Much to his credit - and she loves him that little bit more for it - he stops immediately, panting hard and fast, watching her with dark eyes that are glanced over.

And there’s that sound again. It is Jamie. And he’s awake. They stop together, forehead resting against forehead, still connected in every single way.

Tom waits, frozen and about a millisecond away from cursing a blue streak.

Yes, definitely Jamie. What started as gurgles and a testing wail is quickly turning into full-blown crying.

With a groan, he somehow finds it in himself to disentangle their sweaty limbs. Part of him wants to laugh, maybe for an hour or two. Another part berates him for taking his time, for not snaking a hand down and at least rubbing Hanna so furiously that she could have shattered around him before the chance was taken from her.

“Go on,” he wheezes, rolling to the side and throwing an arm over his face, still panting as if he ran a marathon. “Little Hiddleston, satan child par excellence, needs you.”

Hanna makes an odd sound half-way between a chuckle, a sigh and a curse. By the time she has gotten up and wrangled her way back into his t-shirt (the wrong side up), Jamie is squalling his little lungs out.

Tom wonders whether he should help, but he isn’t entirely sure whether he would be able to walk. So he just lies on his back, struggling for oxygen and thinking of broccoli, swamps with bugs, and complicated sums to get his sanity back.

After a while, the crying in the other room stops. Well, that was fast. He’s almost afraid to smile and hope..but time ticks on, and there’s still blissful silence. And still no Hanna.

Groaning, Tom gets out of bed and into his sweatpants, long limbs still rather uncoordiated. He pads over to Jamie’s room–and stops in the doorway with a smile.

Hanna is sitting on the big sofa, wee Jamie cradled in her arms. Both of them are asleep.


End file.
